


Check Before You Send

by jawbonesandjumpers



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Happy Ending, John is a Horndog, M/M, Masturbation, Pining Sherlock, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-13
Updated: 2015-01-13
Packaged: 2018-03-07 10:02:17
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,867
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3170747
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jawbonesandjumpers/pseuds/jawbonesandjumpers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John accidentally sexts Sherlock. Sherlock accidentally likes it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Check Before You Send

**Author's Note:**

> So I took a mini break from writing Love is Four-Legged Word to write my very first smut...  
> I had way too much fun with this, but I am a wee bab who can't write anything dirtier, so sorry if you were expecting more.
> 
> This is unbeta'd (as are all my fics), so please feel free to point out any errors!  
> And thank you everyone for all the lovely comments and kudos!

Ping!

 

Sherlock was at the morgue, elbows-deep in a corpse when the first text went off on his phone. He ignored it and kept cutting away with the scalpel in his hands – the gold coin had to be in here, he would be able to tie it back to the murderer. He had to find it, _had to_. He was so focused on it, so obsessed with figuring this out that he had yelled at Molly to leave only a half an hour earlier. Luckily, she had, and was most likely sulking in the cafeteria. He didn’t care, as long as she and the rest of the world would leave him in peace to solve the mystery.

 

Exactly three minutes and twenty-seven seconds later, it went off again.

Ping!

He growled and glared over at his coat where it was draped over the back of a chair, shoving his fingers into the slit in the pink-grey flesh of the cadaver’s stomach. The victim had swallowed it, knew that the murderer couldn’t get to it. Had to keep it from him, had to –

Ping!

He snarled again and stood still, breathing heavily from the fury that was taking over. Would everyone just shut up and leave him alone? Five more minutes, all he wanted was five more bloody –

Ping!

He took his hands out of the body and slammed them down on the metal table. Curled his lips back from his teeth. He couldn’t think with that damn –

Ping!

He tore the plastic gloves off of his hands and marched over to his coat. Yanked his phone out of the pocket. Nearly broke the screen with the force of his typing in the code.

 

They were from John.

 

 

_I can’t stop thinking about you._

_Can’t stop thinking about your beautiful eyes, your plump lips, your gorgeous legs. And don’t even get me started on your arse._

_God, every time I do think about you… I didn’t mean to right now, but I can’t wait to see you again._

_Can’t stop thinking about kissing you. Touching you. Sucking on that lovely neck of yours._

_Fuck, I’m so hard already._

Sherlock stood still as a statue. Eyes as wide as saucers. Cheeks going rosy against his will.

John was texting him.

Texting him dirty things.

Was John meaning to?

Was it a mistake?

Why was he feeling so… _warm_.

Ping!

He jumped and nearly dropped his phone.

 

 

_I want you in my bed. I want you stretched out with your eyes shut and your mouth open as I run my hands and my lips up and down your body._

He gasped and stared down at his phone.

He wanted that too. Wait, did he? Oh who was he kidding, of course he did.

He had certainly thought about it before. Not on purpose, of course, but even a genius’s body can betray the mind sometimes. Late at night. In his dreams. Making him imagine the only person that he had ever let in, had ever considered a friend do things like that to him. Waking him in the wee hours of the morning and making him –

Ping!

 

 

_I want you moaning as I suck on your nipples and squeeze your thighs._

His mouth fell open.

Oh god, yes, that. Definitely that –

Ping!

 

 

_I want to hear you cry out in that beautiful voice of yours as I move my lips down. As I finger and lick you open. God, you’d be so sweet._

 

His blood ran cold and then hot.

His knees felt weak and he let out a quiet whine. Scrambled to lean against a table so he wouldn’t collapse to the floor. Clutched his phone tight and tried not to faint as all his blood rushed south.

That, that, please! Please, god, he’d give anything, anything at –

Ping!

 

 

_God, I can’t wait to sink into you. Have you wrap your legs around my hips. Hear your moans over the creaks of the bed. I’d fuck you so hard, make you scream and see stars, I promise._

 

 

He couldn’t stop the moan from tearing its way out of his throat. He closed his eyes and moved his free hand down. Imagined John doing that, all of that, as he squeezed his full, aching cock from outside his trousers. Bit his lip and felt himself blush clear down his neck as he rocked into his hand.

John’s cock in him. John thrusting in and out of him. The bed creaking, knocking against the wall with every sharp push in. His legs pulled up, wrapped around John’s hipbones, feeling the powerful muscles underneath rippling as he moved. John’s breath on his neck, every puff, every groan making him melt and want more. Making him cry out more, louder, harder. In and out, in and out, faster and faster and _oh god_ –

Ping!

Ping!

He tried not to think about how hard he was panting, how warm and wet and painfully hard he was as he opened up the two new texts.

 

 

_God, please tell me you’re coming over tonight, please._

The other text was an image.

 

A terrifying, glorious image.

Golden skin. A hipbone at the top, the beginning of a thigh at the bottom. A light dusting of blonde hair leading down. And there for him, only for him to see, John’s cock – long, thick, huge, too big for him to wrap his hand completely around – on display. Pink and erect and glistening.

For him.

All for him.

 

 

He brought his hand up to his mouth to muffle his cry. Stared down at the image, burned it into his brain. Bit his palm as he pumped his hips into empty air. Wished that fat cock was between his legs.

He shoved his hand back down, wedged it underneath his too-tight trousers. Palmed himself and breathed so fast he was feeling faint. Realized he was letting out a steady litany of ‘oh, oh, oh’ but couldn’t stop it.

John’s cock, _god_. In his hands, his mouth, his arse. John everywhere, all over him, wrapped around him, _in_ him –

Ping!

 

 

_Please, answer me love._

 

 

Love. Love. _Love_.

He cried out again, brought both hands down and tore at his trousers, practically yanking his own cock out from its confinement. Squeezed and pulled and shook as his eyes rolled back and his mouth fell open. He was so close, so close. But he wanted more, more, more. Wanted everything.

John. John. _John_ –

Ping!

 

 

_Sheryl?_

 

 

The metaphorical record screeched to a halt.

Reality crashed in all around him. Made him feel nauseous. Made him want to crawl under a rock and die.

John’s latest girlfriend.

John had meant for all of this to be for Sheryl, not – Sherlock really did feel sick then.

Boiling heat was replaced with bitter shame, and it pumped through his veins until he felt numb.

He took his hands off himself and stared down at his phone.

Of course John meant to text Sheryl, _of course_.

What was he thinking? John was straight. And even if he wasn’t, he wouldn’t be interested. Not in him. Of course.

 

Hands shaking, stomach flipping, he typed up a quick response.

 

 

**_Not Sheryl. SH_ **

 

 

Two minutes later, he got an answer. In fact, his phone veritably blew up.

 

 

_Oh my god_

_I’m so sorry oh my god_

_Those were supposed to be for Sheryl_

_Shit_

_Fuck_

_Buggering_

_Arse_

_I’m so sorry_

_I’m sorry_

_Just delete all that, yeah?_

He closed his eyes again.

 

His heart had dropped out his toes.

Sank into the earth.

Got boiled in the planet’s core.

Of course.

 

He shook off the bitter disappointment and tucked his now flaccid cock away. Of course. Why would John want him? Of course.

 

 

 

The victory of another mystery solved wasn’t as sweet as it normally was.

 

 

~ - - - - ~

 

 

John wasn’t in the flat when he got home.

 

Of course.

 

He didn’t get any sleep that night.

 

Of course.

 

He couldn’t look John in the eye for a week after.

 

Of course.

 

He couldn’t find the words to say to John.

 

Of course.

 

He couldn’t stop dreaming of bronze skin and golden hair and heat and filthy things.

 

 _Of course_.

 

 

~ - - - - ~

 

 

“We need to talk.”

 

Sherlock kept his eyes glued to his computer screen and tried his best to ignore John.

“Sherlock?”

He grunted and waved a dismissive hand.

“Oh no you don’t, you haven’t said a word to me in a week. We are talking right bloody now,” John huffed, grabbing the top of Sherlock’s laptop and nearly squashing his fingers as he closed it.

He turned an affronted look on John and snarled, “Just because Sheryl broke up with you doesn’t mean you can let your anger out on me.” It was a low blow, but he just needed John to go away.

Needed.

_Please._

John clenched his jaw and leveled him with a terrifying look. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes for a moment, then hissed, “Look, I’m sorry about what happened. I saw the ‘Sher’ part and…” He fell quiet, licked his lip nervously, then opened his eyes. “I wasn't… I wasn’t paying attention… I just – ”

He couldn’t stand it anymore. He stood and shouldered his way past, ignoring when John started shouting. He shook off the smaller man’s grip on his arm and grabbed his coat, but didn’t make it out in time before John slammed the front door closed and stood in front of it.  
“I said I’m sorry,” John shouted, looking absolutely manic and vaguely like he wanted to pommel Sherlock. Then again, he always looked like that.

 

Of course.

  
Sherlock squeezed his eyes shut, tried to hold down the bile that bubbled up his throat.

 

Of course.

 

“I don’t want to talk about this,” he managed to croak, not finding the courage to look at John. He did open his eyes when John grabbed him again.

“How many times do I have to say it,” John cried, “I’m sorry! Just… Just delete it!”

Please.

Please.

_Please._

“I don’t want to,” he shouted back.

 

They stared at each other.

 

 

 

John didn’t stop him when he opened the door and fled down the stairs.

 

 

 

He was five blocks away when his phone pinged.

He ignored it and kept stomping down the street, willing the earth to swallow him whole.

Ping!

He growled and pulled his phone out, prepared to turn it on silent.

Ping!

Or chuck it into the Thames.

 

They were from John.

 

 

_You’re so gorgeous. You're perfect.  
_

_I can't believe you're in my life, I'm the luckiest man alive.  
_

 

_I love you._

 

 

Something sharp and blazing pierced through Sherlock’s heart.

 

Of course.

Of course.

_Of course._

 

He let his head fall forward.

Let the bitterness, the loneliness fill him up.

Consume him.

 

He typed out a reply.

 

 

**_Not Sheryl. Again. SH_ **

 

 

He took two steps.

Ping!

 

 

_I know._

 

 

He gazed down at his phone.

All the poisonous thoughts swept away from his body, pulled back out to sea like the falling tide.

He felt light, not really there.

Out of body.

Out in space.

 

Of course.

 

Ping!

 

 

_Come home? Please?_

 

 

He typed a reply, then turned around and ran back to Baker Street.

 

 

 

 

 

**_Of course. SH_ **


End file.
